


Past Resurrected

by YumYumPM



Series: Past Resurrected [1]
Category: The Man from UNCLE
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 15:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1174803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumYumPM/pseuds/YumYumPM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya's past comes back to haunt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Past Resurrected

Act 1: When was the last time you saw Mr. Kuryakin

Napoleon headed toward Mr. Waverly's office having just returned from an assignment in Naples with the intention of turning in his report. When he stepped through the open doorway his mind was on whether to ask the stewardess he had met on the flight back or Rachel in accounting to dinner and dancing tonight. That was why, when in the act of his sitting down, he was caught by surprise by Mr. Waverly's question.

“Mr. Solo, when was the last time you talked to Mr. Kuryakin?”

Napoleon searched his memory. “Oh, two weeks ago, right before I left for Naples. Why?”

Mr. Waverly settled back in his chair and spent a few moments lighting his pipe. That in itself was a warning as it was something he when he was disturbed and trying not to show it. 

“Mr. Kuryakin asked for some personal leave time ten days ago - he was due back two days ago. He still has not returned.”

Napoleon frowned. “Two days ago? That’s not like Illya. What have you done about it?”

“We managed to find out that he booked a flight to London. I felt it best to wait for your return before going any further. I have here your ticket to London.” Waverly rotated the table toward Napoleon. “Find him,” he demanded. “We’ve invested too much money into his training to lose him.”

Napoleon picked up the ticket and was halfway to the door before Waverly had finished the sentence.

mfu

Roughly ten hours later, Solo entered UNCLE headquarters London. His first course of business was to check in with the London Chief just in case Illya had bothered to do the same ten, no make that eleven, days ago. 

“No, Mr. Solo. Mr. Kuryakin hasn’t been here at all.” The London chief's tone was dismissive.

“Is there anyone here who worked with Illya?” Napoleon requested diplomatically.

The head of the London branch of UNCLE addressed his secretary, who stood obediently at his side. “Miss Cage, please see if you can locate anyone working here now that worked with Mr. Kuryakin when he was here before.”

“Sir, I believe Roger Haymes and Peter Grimes worked in association with Mr. Kuryakin,” she answered instantly.

"Ask them to come to my office." Miss Cage nodded her head in acknowledgement and briskly strode out of the office. "Remarkable memory, that girl. She constantly keeping me on my toes, what.” The London chief remarked as she left to do his bidding.

Napoleon decided that it would be best to chat with Haymes and Grimes informally in the commissary.

“Oh, I remember the Russian Wolf all right,” said Grimes grimly.

“Did he have many friends?” asked Napoleon.

“A regular loner that one,” ventured Haymes.

“Isn’t he your partner? Surely you know all about it?” Grimes demanded.

“Refresh my memory,” Napoleon suggested, not liking the fact that he had no idea what they were talking about. He had the distinct impression that Grimes disapproved of Illya and was tightlipped, while Haymes seemed more open to answering questions.

“It was with, what was his name... Peter?”

“Clinton.” Grimes corrected.

“Yeah, Clinton Pike. They were caught you know. Then Kuryakin was transferred to New York to work with you. Guess they felt with your reputation with the women, there wouldn’t be a problem,” Haymes snickered. 

Napoleon noticed that Grimes gave a shake of his head at Haymes and wondered why. 

“Pike’s funeral was last week, maybe that’s why Illya came back,” suggested Grimes, just as Miss Cage showed up with a large folder. 

“Mr. Solo, here are the files you requested. You might want to study them at your hotel.”

Napoleon noticed that she had put special emphasis on ‘study them at your hotel’. Strange, since he had not requested any files be pulled in the first place. Thanking the two gentlemen for their time, he picked up the folder and left. 

Act. Two: Burn in Hell You Bastard

Back at his hotel, Napoleon took off his jacket and loosened his tie, then proceeded to fix himself a drink and settling down to read the file. His eyes widened as he realized that this was Illya’s personnel folder. He started reading and began to feel sick as he noticed specific items that were not mentioned in Illya’s official file in New York. Now the remarks from Haymes and Grimes began to make sense. Then he saw the pictures and barely made it to the bathroom in time. There were six pictures in all and each was sexually explicit. Damn, Damn, Damn.

Coming out of the bathroom he fixed himself another drink. Then steeling his nerves he went back to look at the pictures again. Each picture was dated and doing some elemental math Napoleon realized that Illya must have been fifteen when the first picture was taken and seventeen at the last. Then he examined the facial expressions not wanting to think about the rest of the picture. The first two he could tell that Illya was scared and in pain. In the second two his eyes were blank as if he were trying to blot it all out. The last two were rather shocking as Illya appeared to show enjoyment. The type of enjoyment that Napoleon associated with Illya when he was served either a great steak or an authentic Russian meal. 

His first reaction was revulsion, he had thought he knew Illya and to find out... Then his next reaction was anger, anger at the other man in all the pictures, anger that he hadn’t known. He studied the face of the other man carefully, then he took out his lighter and burned every last picture. Once he was done he started taking his anger out on other things.

Twenty minutes later he walked out of his hotel and nodded to the doorman. It was four o’clock in the morning when he entered UNCLE headquarters and wandered into security for a few minutes. He told to girl on duty that he would be checking out a few things and wondered if she would mind getting him a cup of coffee. The Solo charm worked just fine and he had just enough time to do what he came for before she returned. Number one on the list was finding the location of Pikes' funeral, two was getting the name of the other man in the picture, three, make sure no one else ever saw any of this again. Shortly afterwards he left headquarters.

 

Ten o’clock that morning Doug Morton, London’s chief of security, requested a meeting with his boss. “An hour ago we received a message from the hotel Solo has been staying at. When someone went to clean his room they found it in shambles. I sent a couple of our men over to check it out and they reported that the room was pretty much wrecked and this was found on the floor.” He set a smashed communicator on the desk.

“Has anyone been able to get in touch with Solo?”

“No, sir. However the doorman at the hotel reports that Solo leaving his hotel early this morning and Security here reports he arrived here about four o’clock.”

“Do we know why?”

“Unfortunately, no, it appears the surveillance cameras were tampered with,” Morton replied somewhat embarrassed.

Dismissing Morton, the Head of London HQ requested that his secretary get him Kuryakin’s personnel folder. Within minutes she confirmed that it was missing. With a sigh he requested she connect him with Alexander Waverly in New York. He was not looking forward to telling him that his top agent had gone missing as well as a folder that had been earmarked ‘for your eyes only’. He didn’t know what was in the file. But it must have been dynamite.

mfu

Solo arrived at the little village of Tewkesbury and managed to locate the cemetery where Pike was buried. He found the grave with one white rose lying on top. He heaved a sigh of relief, that could only mean that Illya had been there. Now he just had to locate him. With that plan in mind Napoleon found his way to a nearby pub. After ordering a glass of ale, as he sipped he chatted up the barmaid and eventually showed of photo of his partner to the her and asked if she had seen him.

“Molly, ain’t this the poor chap that was in here a couple of weeks ago?” The barmaid turned to show the photo to another waitress.

“Aye, that it is. Poor soul, he looked as if he’d lost his last friend,” Molly answered.

That cut Napoleon to the quick, he had always thought he was Illya’s best friend.

“He was none too happy to see that new bloke when he came in and greeted him like a long lost brother or somethin’.” Molly continued. “Ain’t that right, Aggie.”

Aggie nodded her head in agreement.

Napoleon pulled out another photograph. “Is this the man?”

“That’s him alright. Right gives me the shivers he does.”

“Have you seen him before?” Napoleon asked

“Not seen him exactly, but rumor has it he bought out the old crematorium,” Aggie responded.

Solo finished his ale and thanked both the ladies after asking direction to the crematorium.

mfu

Forty-five minutes later he had located the flat one story building that housed the crematorium and had hidden his car in the nearby woods. He circled the building keeping just out of sight. The crematorium seemed to be a working concern judging from the smoke billowing out of the stack. There also appeared to be an armed guard at the back door to the building. 

Then he saw him, the man in the pictures, one Ivashko Vornoch by name. He had just exited the building and was chatting with the guard. Solo pulled out his UNCLE special and started adding the attachments. He looked through the sight and targeted the man. He was smoking a cigarette and evidently joking about something with the guard. Suddenly he gave a sneering laugh and Napoleon saw red. He pulled the trigger and shot him right between the eyes. Before the guard could bring his semi automatic to bear on him, Napoleon had shot him too.

Hurriedly Napoleon rushed over and checked to make sure both men were dead, than he snatched up the guards semi and entered the building, hoping to find his partner somewhere in there and alive. He passed the ovens that were going full blast and shuddered, praying he was in time. Finally seven dead bodies later he came to a small room, really nothing more than a closet. Illya lay huddled in a corner bound in chains and not a stitch of clothing on him, totally nude. That made it easy to see that he was extremely battered and bruised. Napoleon bit his lip, not sure if he was even alive. He was relieved when Illya let out a small moan. He dropped the semi automatic to the floor and hurried back to the last body, searched for keys and removed the clothing.

When he returned to the closet, he turned on the lights causing Illya to cover his face and moan, “Nyet, nyet.” 

As he moved closer to his friend he spoke softly, “Hey, partner, it’s me.” 

As quickly as he could Napoleon proceeded to remove the chains that bound him. He'd seen Illya damaged before, but what he saw made him want to go back and shoot the son of a bitch again.

Illya stiffened at his touch.

“Napoleon?” he asked hoarsely.

“Who else?”

“Go away. Leave me.”

“Not on your life, partner mine. Mr. Waverly sent me to bring you back and that’s what I’m gonna do.” With that he started dressing him in the stolen clothes.

Illya groaned in pain.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad enough.”

“Can you walk?” All he got in response was a weak nod. He gently helped his partner up and they started back through the building.

When they passed Vornoch’s body he felt Illya stiffened before giving a gasp of relief. 

“Come on, Illya, it’s just a little further.” He was rewarded with a nod. Napoleon was relieved when they finally made it to the car and Illya passed out from the pain. Napoleon bundled him into the back seat and went back to where he'd left Vornoch’s body. Grabbing him by the arms he pulled him into the building and dumped him onto one of the conveyer belts.

He hit the button he found near the oven door and watched as the belt slowly took the dead body toward the flames. As the flames took hold Napoleon muttered, “Burn in hell, you bastard.” Turning away he made his way back to the car and drove away.

Act Three: Trust Me

He wasn’t aware of how long he had driven, but he was dead tired. He chuckled to his self at the poor choice of words and glanced at Illya’s unconscious body in the back seat. It was dark and the headlights shown on a small sign that read ‘Bed and Breakfast—Vacancy’. Thanking Solo’s luck he pulled in and knocked at the door. Ten minutes later he drove around the back of the building where their room was located with a private entrance no less. He gently removed Illya from the car and carried him inside. Laying him on the bed, Napoleon took off his jacket and proceeded to check Illya's battered body for broken bones. He was relieved to find that there were none, so he pulled up the cover and went to the window to keep watch.

Illya came to, he realized his condition had changed for the better. Gone were the chains and it appeared that he was somewhat clothed and lying on a bed. His mind went back to the start of it all and as his eyes adjusted to the dark he spotted someone standing at the window. 

“Napoleon?” he asked weakly, sure it was all a dream.

Napoleon turned away from the window and reached down to turn on the bedside lamp. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Like twenty miles of bad highway. Where are we?” Illya rolled over into a sitting position, staring down at the floor.

Napoleon shrugged, then realized Illya wasn’t looking at him. “I have no idea.”

“Oh, Napoleon.” Illya sighed, then he looked up and his stomach tightened. “You know…don’t you?”

Napoleon wanted to say know what? To deny everything, tell Illya it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t. 

“Yes,” he said quietly.

Illya turned away and let out a small sigh. “I’ll send in my resignation and disappear.”

Napoleon looked down at his friend in surprise. “Why?”

Turning back, Illya narrowed his eyes at Napoleon. “Don’t tell me you don’t find the knowledge of...what I am disgusting?” Then embarrassed he dropped his gaze to the floor.

Napoleon swallowed hard, he wanted to deny this also but...he couldn't. He moved closer to Illya and knelt in front of him.

“Illya, look at me. Yes, at first I was disgusted, but than I was angry. No, not with you, but what had been done to you. You were only a young boy not even sixteen, right?”

Illya nodded. “I’m sorry, Napoleon, I never meant to lie to you.” 

“Illya, it’s not a lie if no one asks. None of what happened was your fault,” he said furiously.

“Napoleon, I am what I am, what I was made, I can’t change that.”

Napoleon frowned. Something about that statement striking him as erroneous. The logic was all wrong. “You’re a very good actor. I never guessed.” And then because he had to know. “Just how many men have you been...ah...with?”

“Since we’ve been partners?” Somehow Illya was able to read Napoleon’s mind. “Three.”

Letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Napoleon closed his eyes and thought about what he had just learned. Was he jealous? “Illya, you’re my partner and my friend. I’m not going to ask you to change. I just want…" He let out a cough. "If you ever need…damn this is so hard. What I’m trying to say is if you need…someone, let that someone be me.”

“Napoleon! You can’t be serious.”

Looking him fiercely in the eye Napoleon responded, “I’m deadly serious. You’ve protected me time and time again, now it’s my turn to protect you.” Rising he continued, “I’m calling Waverly and telling him we’re coming home.”

Illya fell back on the bed not sure he could believe the offer Napoleon had just made. He closed his eyes going over in his mind the pain and torment he had gone through the last two weeks. Surely the fact that he was here and with Napoleon was all a dream. He had felt so alone for so long. When Napoleon returned from making his call, he took a deep breath sat up and looking Napoleon straight in the eye and hoping he wasn’t making a fool of himself asked, “If you really mean what you said…would you…hold me?”

Napoleon wasn’t quite sure what he had expected his friend to ask him to do, but he was sure that wasn’t it. Looking at his friend with amusement he took off his shoulder holster and set it on the nightstand. Slipping off his shoes Napoleon climbed onto the bed and slipped behind him to hold his friend close, his chin resting atop the blond head. Illya sagged against him. In spite of all that had happened, Napoleon felt the tension in Illya drain away. 

Illya let himself lean against Napoleon feeling safer than he had ever felt before. He hadn’t really planned to take Napoleon up on his offer so soon, but now that he was here…he’d always wondered if what the girls at the office had said about Napoleon was true.

“I bet I know what you’re thinking,” Napoleon whispered in his ear.

Illya looked up at him in surprise, there was no way Napoleon could know…than Napoleon looked down at him and gently brought his lips down to cover his partner’s. Illya’s heart almost stopped. The girls were right, he did know how to kiss. But how had he known what I was thinking, Illya thought.

Kissing wasn’t anything new to Napoleon, he’d kissed more women than he could count. But this kiss was different, somehow he had known it was what his partner needed and he had put his whole heart and soul into it. When they finally parted, Napoleon holding back a smile asked, “Well?”

Illya just snuggled back into his embrace trying hard not let Napoleon see the smile on his face. “It was…adequate.” He could feel the quiet mirth of his friend as he once again relaxed against Napoleon. Then he let out a sigh, when they did go back there would be questions, and doctors. He was not sure he was ready to deal with all that.

“Don’t worry. There will be no questions, I promise.”

“How long have you been able to read my mind?” Illya demanded. “How can you say there will be no questions, once they find the bodies and read my file...everyone will know.” He felt Napoleon stiffen.

“Illya, it won’t be a problem. Trust me.”

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“Not today, and maybe not tomorrow either. Go to sleep.”

He felt Illya give in, and soon felt more than heard the easy breathing of a man sleeping. He knew he would soon tell Illya that he had destroyed all the files that could harm him, and that there was no body for anyone to connect with him. Kissing him atop his head, he leaned back to catch up on some much needed sleep. He thought of his promise to Illya to help him when he need to…and was surprised to realize that actually he actually looking forward to it.

Act Four: Things back to normal

The intercom sounded on Mr. Waverly’s desk. “Mr. Waverly, you asked to be informed when Solo and Kuryakin arrived.” Mr. Waverly turned to a bank of monitors and watched as his top agents entered UNCLE Headquarters.

There he saw Kuryakin pinning his badge to his jacket while his partner leaned forward to have the receptionist place his on. The camera continued to follow the two agents down the hall, their demeanor the same as it always was.

He turned the monitors off just before they entered and took their usual spots. Napoleon seemed his usual self, while Kuryakin seemed more somber than usual. “Gentlemen, I’ve read your final reports and they leave a lot to be desired,” he said gruffly.

Napoleon just gave a shrug. Mr. Waverly gave a mental sigh, obviously they were not going to be more forth coming about what had occurred. He could order them to complete the reports, but what would be the point. Revolving the table to bring several folders around to sit in front of them, Waverly decided to try another tactic. “Now about these expense reports.” Ah, that got them. “Mr. Solo, the hotel you were staying at is charging an obsorbinant amount for the room that was trashed.” He couldn’t help but notice the surprise look that Mr. Kuryakin gave Mr. Solo, nor the fact that Napoleon’s neck was turning red. “This is the last time UNCLE will pay for this sort of thing.” He didn’t miss the look of relief on Solo’s face.” Rising from his chair. “Excuse me there is a small matter I must attend to. You are not to leave this office until those expense reports are done properly.”

When he had exited the room he asked his secretary to pull several unnecessary files for him. When she had entered the elevator he sat down at her desk and turned on the intercom.

“Napoleon, what was that about your hotel room being trashed?”

“Don’t ask.”

Silence.

“Illya, when we’ve finished with these reports do you want to go get a bite to eat?”

“That would be nice. I am hungry.”

“You’re always hungry. How about Mama Marchella’s?”

“That depends. Who’s paying?”

“You are.”

“Automat.”

“Cheapskate.” Sigh. “Automat it is.”

Mr. Waverly cut off the intercom and leaned back in relief. Evidently things were back to normal.

Epilogue

What Waverly didn’t hear was Napoleon leaning closer to Illya and asking out of the side of his mouth. “Need a hug?”

Nor did he hear Illya respond while not looking up and his mouth twitching with amusement. “No thank you, Napoleon.”

Likewise he missed Napoleon's going back to his paperwork. “Just thought I’d ask.”

What he did see when he entered were his two top agents hunched over their paperwork.


	2. Lessons Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Napoleon is given an assignment he's uncomfortable with.  
> Who better to help him through it then his partner.

Act 1: It’s Back to School Time

Napoleon was walking down the hallway on his way to Mr. Waverly’s office when he spied his partner, nose in a file, going in the same direction. “I see Mr. Waverly’s asked to see you too.”

Illya just nodded and continued to walk toward Waverly’s office. “How was your trip to Istanbul?” he asked.

Napoleon winced. They arrived at the door to Mr. Waverly’s office and stopped: Napoleon long enough to adjust his tie and Illya to put away his glasses and close the folder.

They entered the room and went to their customary places around the round table. Mr. Waverly was in the middle of lighting his pipe, which did not bode well for whatever the problem might be.

“Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin, what do you know about Harrison Cummings?” Mr. Waverly asked.

“Umm, nothing, sir,” Napoleon replied.

Illya’s was more thoughtful. “Wasn’t he the head man on the Wertheimer Project?’

“Miss Rogers, please turn out the lights.” The room darkened and a picture of a man around forty-five with thinning hair showed up on a screen. “This is Harrison Cummings, gentlemen. Our sources show that THRUSH is showing an interest in him.”

Solo gave a mental sigh; another scientist and another THRUSH plot. This was becoming monotonous.

“His importance to the Wertheimer Project is paramount. Unfortunately Mr. Cummings sexual preferences leaves cause for concern."

Napoleon started to look apprehensive; he hoped Mr. Waverly wasn’t planning to use Illya as entrapment again.

“Ms. Rogers, the next five slides please,” Mr. Waverly continued.

Both Napoleon and Illya sat up straighter as they saw the faces of five men flash across the screen. They all had dark hair and eyes, and bore an amazing resemblance to UNCLE’s top agent and CEA Napoleon Solo.

“Mr. Solo, as you can see Mr. Cummings taste runs more to men of your type. It will be your assignment to approach him and strike up a relationship,” Mr. Waverly stated.

Napoleon sat there with his mouth open and his face pale.

“Sir? Napoleon has not been trained for this sort of assignment,” Illya offered.

“I’m aware of that, Mr. Kuryakin. That is why it will be your assignment to see to it he is properly trained,” Mr. Waverly pointed out as he sent the file on the table turning toward them. “This is all the available information we currently have on Mr. Cummings. I suggest you start training now. You have five days to do it in.” 

“Yes, sir,” Napoleon said reluctantly as he took the folder and rose to leave with his partner.

“Mr. Solo, could you remain for a minute?” Mr. Waverly asked absently as he focused his attention on another folder.

Napoleon glanced at his partner and nodded to him indicating that he would see him later. Illya, looking slightly sick, nodded back before leaving the room.

Once Illya had left the room, Mr. Waverly turned from the folder he had been studying, and pointed the end of his pipe at Napoleon. “Mr. Solo, I don’t know what misguided sense of justice caused you to destroy Mr. Kuryakin’s personal file at the London office, but I will have you know that I am aware of everything that was in that folder.”

Napoleon swallowed and hoped that there were no more copies floating around.

“I was the one who had that file marked 'For eyes only' and I do not appreciate the fact that the only file we had on Mr. Kuryakin’s past was destroyed. Do not let this happen ever again.” And with a wave of his pipe Mr. Waverly dismissed him.

Napoleon left sending out a mental sigh of relief. He spotted Illya in the hall waiting for him, his face drawn and still looking sick.

“Well, they do say that learning can be fun,” Napoleon quipped as they started walking toward their offices.

“Do not joke about this,” Illya voice was strained.

“Oh come on, Illya, how bad can it be?” Napoleon wondered.

“Don’t ask,” Illya said darkly.

They walked in silence for a while, when Napoleon remarked, “We have five days, your place or mine?”

Illya stopped and considered. “I think perhaps we should meet in neutral territory.”

Napoleon looked thoughtful and then with a sly smile said, “I know just the place.”

 

Act 2: Demon’s exorcized

After making a few phone calls and leaving a message for Illya, Napoleon headed over to what, in his mind, he was beginning to think of as school. The first of its kind for him and he wasn't exactly sure what to expect. That being the case he wanted to make sure that everything was in his favor. He was the master at seduction after all, just not this type. A little tweaking was all that would be required he was sure.

At the appropriate hour Illya knocked at the door of a suite in one of the better small hotels in town, to be greeted by his partner decked out in a velvet burgundy smoking jacket with matching ascot and a brandy sniffer in hand. All that was missing was an oversized cigar. Sparing a glance over Napoleon's shoulder, he made out a candlelit table set for two.

Shaking his head, Illya dropped the huge folder that he'd brought with him on a nearby coffee table. “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t reserve the bridal suite.”

“Illya, I’m hurt. Mood is always important and I thought as long as we have to do this we might as well enjoy it. Besides the bridal suite was already booked.”

"Not for what we need to do. Do you want to explain the meal and the candles?”

“They came with the room? Come on, Illya, you know you always work better on a full stomach.”

"Not this time," Illya muttered under his breath.

Napoleon had never seen his partner so tense and was in a quandary as to what to do about it. “Come try it. I ordered all your favorites." Napoleon pulled out a chair in gentlemanly fashion.

Illya ignored the chair and sat on the other side of the table. He lifted the lids on the various dishes. "Oysters? Chocolate covered Strawberries? Are you sure they're my favorites?"

"I did include chocolate." Napoleon sounded a bit miffed.

They sat down and ate in silence. This was not going as Napoleon had hoped. Napoleon was nervous enough and Illya was being standoffish and prickled. He'd hope that this would be something they could have fun with, make jokes about later. 

It was almost a relief when just as they were finishing their meal there was a knock at the door. Napoleon went to answer it and a bellhop wheeled in a projector on a cart. 

“Compliments of Mr. Alexander Waverly,” he said. If he thought anything of the intimate meal setting and that there were no women present, just the two men, he kept it to himself. Waverly had sent him there to deliver the equipment, not to think. He held out his hand and made sure he got his tip only letting out a small snicker on his way out the door.

Illya set down his fork and dropped his head to his hands and groaned, while Napoleon, whose mood had lightened, smirked. “I wonder what dear old Uncle Alex has in mind? Porno flicks do you think?”

“Napoleon, would you please get your mind out of the gutter. First off I want you to review the contents of this folder. Then we’ll watch the film.” Illya picked up the folder and thrust it into Napoleon’s hands.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Napoleon said with a tiny bit of annoyance as he sat down and went over everything in the folder for the next hour, while Illya paced the floor behind him. It was a thorough report, down to the toothpaste the man liked to use. Large sections of it pertained to the many clandestine liaisons Harrison Cummings had over the years. Throwing the folder down in disgust, Napoleon griped, “Okay, I think I now know more than I ever wanted to know about this guy. Wonder what's on the film?” 

The projector was aimed at a blank wall and turned on. As the film rolled they were privy to Harrison Cummings in explicit compromising situations. Napoleon started to turn green, he’d had a vague idea – but to put it bluntly – he hadn’t really been aware of what exactly would be required of him. Illya on the other hand was looking unperturbed, his face expressionless, and it was that more than anything that worried Napoleon to no end. If this was supposed to arouse him, it wasn't working.

Turning off the projector and pushing it out of the way into a corner Napoleon turned to his partner. “Okay, now what?”

“Take off your clothes,” Illya ordered curtly.

“Here? Ah, couldn't I…” Napoleon ventured pointing vaguely to the other room.

“No. There will be no place in this for modesty,” Illya’s voice was a flat monotone.

While Napoleon took off all his clothing, Illya moved over to the bar and poured two drinks. Gulping his down in one slug, he handed the other glass to Napoleon. 

“Drink this,” he ordered. He waited until Napoleon wrinkled his nose and drank his down too. Hopefully the alcohol would settle his nerves. He could already feel himself retreating to the dark place where he'd kept this side of him bottled up. This would not be easy. Not for him. Not for Napoleon. 

“You will learn two ways to please a man – intercourse and taking a man in your mouth,” he said bluntly as he motioned for Napoleon to enter the bedroom. He directed him onto the bed and ordered him to position himself at the head of the bed with his legs to his chest. Napoleon did as instructed with dread. 

"Can't we start with...umm..the taking in the mouth thing first? You know...a blow job? "

"Nyet," Illya responded curtly as he pulled a tube of lubricant out of his pocket and tossed it on the bed. He then unbuckled his belt, drawing it through the loops and tossing it on the floor, before he lowered his pants. Getting on the bed, he walked on his knees until he settled in between Napoleon's thighs, spreading them apart, eyeing the flaccid cock, the sacs beneath them and especially the seemingly small round opening beneath them. Without thought he coated his fingers with the lotion and roughly started to prepare him. His mind wasn't on what he was doing so he never noticed when Napoleon winced in pain. Memories, long buried, resurfaced. This was not about pleasure, this was about showing what might be expect. As he geared up to enter him Illya parroted orders in his homeland's language. “Look at me. You must say you want this. The state does not require…”

Anger swelled up in Napoleon displacing any feeling of pain. How could he have not noticed…the tone of voice, the directions spoken in Russian…he lashed out with one foot and knocked his partner off the bed and across the room against the wall. In an instant he was off the bed, he reached for his pants and angrily jerked them on over his bare skin.

Illya shook his head, feeling as if awaking from a as if coming out of a dream. His chest hurt, and he was on the floor. He looked up at Napoleon confused. “What...happened?”

Napoleon was pacing the room like a man possessed. Illya had never seen him so angry. Napoleon was normally the most mild-mannered of men.

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it. That sorry son of a bitch!!! It wasn’t you, it wasn’t you.”

Illya looked down at himself. He was partially dressed and his dick was hanging out, his eyes widened with shock. The last thing he remembered clearly was watching the video. What did Napoleon mean by insisting that ‘it wasn’t him’? 

"What are you talking about?" Illya eyed Napoleon as he paced back and forth wearing only his pants. 

Napoleon stopped his pacing to wave his arms around. Words would not come out of his mouth.

Comprehension slowly set in. “You can’t mean…I was emulating...?” only to find Napoleon roughly covering his mouth with such force as to knock his head against the wall. Peeling Napoleon's hand away, Illya continued, " Let's be sensible about this. What you're suggesting is impossible."

"How else would you explain it. Do you even remember what happened just now?” Napoleon started pacing again, running his hand through his hair. He had never felt this angry-this incensed-this violated and by a dead man.

Illya sat there with his head hanging down. “Perhaps you should tell Mr. Waverly that we can’t do this,” he suggested.

“No! No,” Napoleon squatted down in front of Illya and gently caressed his cheek. “We can do this. Just not the way…we planned.” A spark of an idea occurred to him and he mused, “Okay, this could work.” 

Leaving his friend in the dark as his intentions, Napoleon went back into the other room. He came back carrying two bottles and two glasses. Pouring two drinks, he set them on the nightstand. “Come here,” he commanded as he held out his hand to help Illya up from the floor. 

Their fingers touched and the next thing he knew he had a partially dressed Russian in his arms. He pulled Illya close taking in the smell that was uniquely his. Then linking their fingers together he started to lead them to the bed. "You might want to take your pants off," Napoleon suggested when Illya almost tripped. 

"What about you," Illya asked.

"Later." Napoleon settled on the bed, his back against the headboard and watched as Illya jerked one pant leg and shoe off. He actually laughed as Illya hopped on one leg repeating the process with the other pant leg and received a glare in return.

“Come here,” Napoleon requested. When Illya had complied Napoleon held him to his chest with one arm then reached over and handed one of the glasses to him. “Drink,” he ordered as he took the other glass and swallowed the contents down in one gulp. “Now here is what we are going to do,” he whispered through gritted teeth into Illya’s ear. “You are going to tell me everything, and I do mean everything that happened back all those years ago. We are going to exorcize this demon if it’s the last thing we do.”

Illya closed his eyes and leaned back against Napoleon’s chest. He didn’t want to do this; he really didn’t want to do this. To talk of this made him feel vulnerable as if he were exposing himself. He looked down at his body and realized he was exposed, so he pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around them. He had thought it was all behind him, that he could forget.

“Come on, Illya, I know this is difficult for you, but you do see that it’s necessary?” Napoleon pleaded softly.

Illya nodded, licked his lips and taking a deep breath as his mind went back in time. Without any inflection in his voice he began relating how when he was in school one of his teachers had made a pass. How when he had reported it, as he was obligated to do, he had been informed that he would be required to help entrap the teacher, and that a trainer was to be sent. His eyes glazed as he told meeting the man who would…and then dropped his head he unable to go on.

Napoleon held him closer and spoke soothingly to him while he poured the slight Russian another drink, “It’s okay, I think I know what came next,” he said, sure he was right. “Then what happened?” 

Illya continued his voice toneless. “He was so huge…enormous.” 

“Bigger than me?” Napoleon asked teasingly.

“Much.”

“Ouch.”

“Must I continue?” he asked tilting his head back to look at Napoleon.

Napoleon felt a rush of sympathy and sighed. “It’s for the best, I think.”

It took a moment before Illya was able to continue. “He was rather proud of the fact. Then I had to learn to take him in my mouth.” 

“Sounds like fun,” Napoleon said dryly.

With no emotion in his voice Illya faltered. “We had to…I had to…twice daily for two weeks.” Illya felt drained.

“Then what?” Napoleon asked quietly.

“Then I did as I was told,” Illya voiced matter-of-factly as his finger traced a pattern on the sheet. “They were pleased. They gave me money.” 

Napoleon started to pour another drink but the bottle was empty. 

“Over the next two years he would come back…for retraining he said. By that time…it felt...natural.”

Napoleon laid his head against Illya’s neck. “Feel better?”

“Oddly enough, I do.” Illya felt as if a weight had been taken off of his shoulders.”

Napoleon felt rage burning inside of him. “I should have cut off his balls when I had the chance.

Illya looked back at his partner puzzled. “Napoleon?” he asked. “What did you do?”

Napoleon's mouth twitched. “Uh, I put his body through the crematorium.”

Illya looked back at him in shock. “Napoleon!!”

“Well, I figure if he was going to burn in hell, I’d give him a head start.” Their mood was somber, then Illya relaxed against Napoleon letting the pain fade away.

They sat like that for sometime when Illya decided to ask, “Now what?”

Napoleon turned him around so he could look into his eyes. “Now we do this, but not the way you were taught.”

“But, Napoleon, I'm supposed to train…you,” Illya protested as Napoleon moved from behind him so that he knelt back on his heels between Illya's legs and pulled them to stretch out straight on either side of him. 

Napoleon slowly began to unbuttoned Illya's shirt, slipping it off his shoulders baring his chest. Having seen Illya shirtless before, it surprised him that his dick was taking such an interest in the spectacle. Gently taking Illya’s face into his hands, Napoleon pulled him forward for a kiss. He somehow doubted that kissing had been part of Illya’s learning process. Judging by the dazed expression on Illya's face he felt justified in being a little smug. Backing away he tugged on Illya's outstretched legs, he pulled him to where he was in a reclining position. Crawling back up over his partner’s body, he began kissing his way down, nibbling at the hardened buds, letting his tongue trace a path down to his treasure trove. He contemplated what he was about to do. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the mechanics involved, having had it done to him by various ladies of his acquaintance, but this would be a totally new experience for him. He felt himself more than ready and for the first time in his life, Napoleon Solo took a cock into his mouth. 

“Napoleon!” Illya sucked in his breath and gasped in shock. 

As Napoleon sucked, his lips surrounded smooth skin, his tongue licked the rim of the head on the upstroke. at the reached out reached out to located the tube of lubricant by touch and he flipped the lid open and managed to cover his fingers with its contents. Remembering an experience he had not long ago with a certain lady of his acquaintance, he gently cupped the sacs with his hand before going lower, and glancing down to make sure his finger found its target pressed it into the body of the man under him. Illya’s body pushed up with a jerk causing Napoleon to smile around the cock that as it pushed its way further into his mouth. It wasn’t long before he felt Illya’s body arch as he let loose his load. He considered spitting it out, but decided against it, as he swallowed he thought it must be an acquired taste.

When he was done he licked his lips and glanced up with a smug smile. “Well?”

Illya looked dazed as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Are you sure you've never done this before? Where did you learn…?” he asked.

With a smile that was now a smug grin Napoleon answered, “Angelique.”

Illya fell back against the pillows, his arm covering his eyes and groaned.

Napoleon climbed over to the other side of his partner and pulled the covers up over both of them. “What’s my grade?” he purred into his partner’s ear.

Illya who had turned on his side with his back to his partner appeared to consider and finally said. “B-.”

“B-!” Napoleon exclaimed indignantly.

Illya answered sleepily, “You almost spat.” 

Sighing Napoleon put his head against Illya’s neck and felt him chuckle.

 

Act. 3: Forty-Eight Hours, Is He Crazy

The phone rang and Napoleon caught it on the first ring. 

“Room service will be delivered in twenty minutes.” 

He looked at the phone before hanging it up pondering the significance of the call. He got out of bed carefully so as not to wake Illya and was showered and fully dress by the time there was a knock at the door. A waiter silently delivered a cart with breakfast along with a sealed envelope. As the waiter left, he poured himself a cup of coffee, picked up the envelope and read the paper it contained. He sat down and closed his eyes. This day was just going to get better and better. He thought about drowning himself but doubted it would change anything.

He was still sitting at the table reading the paper when Illya exited the bedroom, somewhat disheveled and wearing a bathrobe. Napoleon glanced up and started to ask how him how he was feeling when he notice Illya’s face was emotionless. He was in his ‘nothing’s wrong, I’m not hurting’ mode. Napoleon controlled his features and continued reading his paper. He noticed gratefully that evidently last night’s revelations had not adversely affected his partner’s appetite.

Illya waited for Napoleon to bring up last nights activities, and was surprised when he didn’t, thought he didn’t let it show on his face. They continued eating in silence for sometime, then Napoleon served himself a last cup of coffee. He got up and dropped the envelope in front of Illya before going over to stand by the window. He watched Illya’s reflection in the window as he opened the envelope and read the contents. 

Illya’s eye’s widening as throwing down the paper he turned toward the American and said sharply, "Forty-eight hours! Is he insane?”

“I doubt it,” Napoleon said calmly taking another sip of his coffee.

“It’s impossible. It took me…” He stopped suddenly and closed his mouth as Napoleon looked at him sharply. “I’m going to clean up,” he growled angrily as he pushed away from the table and stormed into the bathroom.

Napoleon set down his empty cup and headed for the bedroom. Sitting on the bed he took off his shoes and chunked them against the wall. As he disrobed he thought of all the distasteful things he had done for UNCLE. Why was this one thing so difficult, especially since they didn’t have five days to prepare, but only forty-eight hours. He climbed into the bed and pulled the covers up over his head.

Illya came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and another drying his hair to a room that looked like a disaster area. He had had a chance to calm down and was surprised to find his partner hiding under the covers. It was the first time he had thought about this from Napoleon’s point of view. He glanced around and realized from the look of the room that his partner was disturbed. Sitting on the edge of the bed he pulled the cover off the American’s face saying, “This is not what they meant by undercover assignment.”

Napoleon did not respond, which was very unlike him, and he wouldn’t look Illya in the face. With a sign, Illya climbed onto the bed and positioned himself behind Napoleon, lifting him to his chest in a reversal of their rolls of last night. Holding Napoleon close he asked softly, “What are you afraid of, Napoleon?”

In a small voice the American answered, “I don’t know.”

“You can’t be afraid of your ability to seduce a man?” Illya queried. 

Napoleon shook his head, he felt confident in his ability to seduce anyone, even a man.

Illya leaned forward to look at Napoleons face with puzzlement. “Surely you’re not afraid you’ll enjoy this?”

Minutes passed before Napoleon finally whispered, “Yes.”

“Would that be so bad?” Illya wanted to know.

Napoleon closed his eyes. “I don’t know.” He felt his self worth was at stake and it was small comfort when Illya hugged him tighter.

“Let’s get on with this then,” Illya whispered in his ear.

“Okay, how do you want me?” Napoleon asked with resignation.

Illya thought about it for a while. “On your knees.”

Napoleon thought about that before turning over and assuming the position as Illya placed pillows under him. The lubricant was still somewhere in the bedcovers and after much searching Illya managed to find it.

“You’ll need to relax,” he suggested, as he ran his hand down Napoleon's spine before spreading the twin slightly rounded mounds that his partner normally sat on to gaze at the virginal, at least that was the assumption, hole. He blinked as it winked at him.

“Haha,” Napoleon said morosely into the mattress, not finding the situation funny at all.

Illya considered whether he should do this gently so Napoleon would get enjoyment or not. If he ever wanted to do this again, he should carefully prepare Napoleon. On the other hand how likely was it that Cummings would be considerate. He decided that it would probably be better for all concerned if he didn’t, so after slathering a great deal of lubricant inside and out, Illya tried to enter him swiftly. The head of his cock breached the opening and stuck. 

"Bear down," He ordered and let out a gasp at the tightness that surrounded him sucking him in as he slid home. Changing his mind in mid-stream, Illya pulled out, then shifted slightly and slammed into him again, this time his cock grazing over the gland that should send an enjoyable tingle through Napoleon's body. He knew he'd hit the right spot when Napoleon's body arched beneath him and he ranted 'oh my god' over and over.

Act. 4: Show Time.

Forty-eight hours later Napoleon entered a gay bar that their target was known to frequent trying to look like he belonged. His gaze moved over the other patrons and he adjusted his persona to match theirs. He thought back to the previous forty-eight hours and felt a stab of excitement. As he ordered a Gibson, he glanced in the mirror behind the bar to observe the blond piano player, whose blue eyes looked back at him over his dark glasses. The wicked smile that Illya flashed Napoleon went directly to his groin. Napoleon would have sent an answering glare back at him if not for his professionalism. He picked up his drink and took sip.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you here before?”

He mentally grimaced at the use of the oldest pickup line in the world and turned to face the man he had come to entrap. “My first time here.”

Cummings ran his hand down Napoleons arm. “I’m Harrison Cummings.”

Napoleon reached out to shake his hand. “Adam Walker.”

Cummings gave Napoleon a burning look and seemed to like what he saw. After an hour of small talk he finally suggested. “I know a place where we can get to know one another better.” 

Napoleon pretended to give it some thought. “Sure.”

Cummings led him toward a stairway to the second floor, his hand sliding down Napoleon’s back to squeeze his rear. As Napoleon passed the piano player he noticed that Illya was no longer smirking.

Cummings led Napoleon down the hall at the head of the stairs to enter a well-appointed room. After ushering Napoleon in, Cummings fixed them both a drink and then pulled Napoleon close, attacking his mouth with a bruising kiss. That nicety over, he backed off, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his engorged cock.

Napoleon stood there his mouth dry and licked his lips, and hoped that Cummings would assume it was in anticipation. Closing his eyes he got down on his knees, feeling it could have been worse and took the hard cock into his mouth and started using the technique that Illya had so painstakingly taught him. He hadn’t been at it long when he felt the cold steel of a revolver at his head. Cummings had a grip on Napoleon’s hair. “Won’t U.N.C.L.E. be surprised to find out the great Napoleon Solo is a cock sucker.”

Napoleon’s eyes opened in surprise. He swiftly pushed the gun out of the way as he bit down hard on the penis in his mouth. Cummings let out a scream of pain even as the shot went harmlessly into the ceiling. Napoleon got swiftly to his feet and threw a hard right into Cummings gut and then for good measure grabbed him by the back of his jacket and threw him out the window.

Illya came rushing in, his gun drawn. He went over to the window and looked down at the body below. Putting away his gun he said dryly, “Mr. Waverly will not be pleased.”

Napoleon was bent over and breathing hard. “Damn Waverly. He knew.”

Illya looked at Napoleon puzzled. “Knew what?”

“Who I was,” Napoleon spat.

“Oh,” Illya said in comprehension and began surveying the room. Bed, dresser, bar, bookcase. His eyes stopped on the bookcase and going over he pulled aside some books to reveal a video camera. He was pleased to see that there were no wires leading from the camera. Removing the tape he dropped it on the floor and stomped on it cracking the case and for good measure he pulled out the tape before dropping it in a garbage can to set it on fire.

“A tactical retreat would seem to be in order,” he suggested to which Napoleon nodded.

Epilogue

They were both seated in Mr. Waverly’s office. Napoleon, somewhat somber, was fiddling with the ring on his pinky finger, while Illya looked his usual calm collected self.

“I suppose it could have been worse.” Mr. Waverly sounded somewhat disappointed. “and I suppose you’ve learned something from all this, Mr. Solo.”

Napoleon looked up briefly to say, “Oh…yes, sir.” His demeanor more quiet than usual before dropping his eyes again.

“Good, I expect a full report on my desk by Monday,” he said dismissing both agents with a wave of his hand.

As the two men walked down the hall Napoleon with his hands in his pockets and head down appeared deep in thought. This caused his partner to be concerned. Napoleon had been too quiet; ever since they got back from this mission he hadn’t really said anything.

“Napoleon?” Illya queried.

Napoleon stopped, glanced around to see if anyone was around, and then seemed to come to some type of decision. Stepping close to his partner into his personal space, his brown eyes peering intensely into blue ones as he asked, “What would you say if I asked to kiss you right here, right now?”

Illya licked his lips nervously and took a step backwards. “I’d say you were mad.”

Napoleon just nodded as if confirming something he already knew and stepped forward one-step closer, his eyes narrowed. “B-, hmmm. Tell me, do you give make up exams?” His eyes were twinkling.

They were almost within touching distance. Illya frowned. “Don’t toy with me, Napoleon.” 

“Toying wasn’t what I had in mind.” Napoleon raked his eyes over his partner's form from top to bottom and smiled with delight as he noticed the small shudder his partner made.

Leaning closer, his hands still in his pockets, he purred into the Russian’s ear, “Have you ever heard of grading on a curve?”

He abruptly turned and strolled purposely down the hall. Illya stood there, and then his head turned as he watched his partner walk away. Half way down the hall, Napoleon stopped, his expression one of serenity. He looked back and tilted his head to one side as if to say, ‘are you coming?’

Illya let go of the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and swiftly caught up with his partner knowing he would follow him…anywhere.


	3. Secrets Uncovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The CIA tries to make trouble for Illya by linking damaging information on Illya's past.

Act 1 Starting Over

Illya had been hiding out in the lab. It had been two weeks since he had followed Napoleon down that hallway and since then nothing. His frustration level was at an all time high when his partner arrived to invade his space. Napoleon looked enormously pleased about something. 

“Napoleon, I suppose you have a date tonight?”

“As a matter of fact I do. With you.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

Napoleon leaned over and whispered seductively in his ear, “I’ve planned something really special.”

“What?” Illya wanted to know.

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” Napoleon said smugly as he turned and walked away.

Illya sat there looking at his receding back, wondering why he bothered.

Napoleon arrived at his apartment to pick him up and escorted him to a very small and not very fashionable jazz club. 

“Order anything you like,” Napoleon said magnanimously.

“Anything?” Illya said as he looked over the prices on the menu. This place was not cheap.

“Anything within reason,” Napoleon stipulated.

They ordered drinks, which were served before ordering their meal. They sat there drinking in silence when Napoleon asked, “You seem very tense tonight. Is it something I’ve done?”

“No,” was Illya’s terse reply. It wasn’t something Napoleon had done; it was something he hadn’t done. “I was not aware you enjoyed jazz?” he asked.

“I don’t not enjoy it,” Napoleon replied looking into his drink.

“That’s a double negative,” Illya felt constrained to point out.

Napoleon wrinkled his nose at him in response.

Napoleon had ordered a double scotch for himself and double vodka for Illya, causing Illya to ask, “Napoleon, are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Of course not!” Napoleon replied indignantly.

“I told you I’m not in the mood.”

“Illya, let me set you straight right now. I am not trying to get you drunk. I am not trying to get you amorous. I’m trying to get you to enjoy yourself by doing things with you that I thought you would like,” Napoleon said trying to understand what Illya’s problem was.

“You’re not trying to get me amorous?” Illya asked, disappointed.

“No…at least not tonight.” He paused. “Unless I’ve been reading you all wrong?” Suddenly the lights went on in Napoleon’s mind. “Why you sly Russian,” he remarked delightedly. “Why don’t we start over, say at my place?”

Illya frowned.

“Oookay, your place?”

Illya twitched his nose.

“How about where this all started?”

“England?” Illya asked in surprise.

“No, idiot. You know perfectly well where I mean,” Napoleon said exasperated.

Act 2: Duty Calls

“Napoleon, not the bridal suite?” Illya observed in annoyance.

Napoleon replied innocently, “It was the only thing available.”

Both men snickered as they looked around. Finally Napoleon heading for the bedroom. “Come on, look at this.” He pointed out the features that the bridal suite contained, bouncing on the bed Napoleon pushed a button causing soothing music to start playing. He pushed another button and the bed started to shimmy, he grinned at his partner.

“You seem very familiar with this suite, Napoleon,” Illya said suspiciously.

Glancing down, his face flush, Napoleon decided to make a clean breast of it. “Well, I, ah, checked it out a couple of weeks ago.”

Smiling fondly at the dark haired man with the red face Illya said, “Napoleon, you nut,” as he joined him on the bed.

* Beep *

The sound of a communicator interrupted whatever might have happened next.

“Solo here,” Napoleon answered, starting to feel very frustrated.

“Mr. Solo, Mr. Waverly would like to see you in his office right away,” A feminine voice requested.

Looking over at his partner. “Should I pick up Mr. Kuryakin?” he asked.

“No, Mr. Waverly only specified you,” was her reply.

Growling, Napoleon got up off the bed. 

“Duty calls.” 

He sighed as he went to the door. Opening it, he stopped and quickly turned back to pull his partner in close for a heartfelt hug. 

“Don’t forget where we left off,” he ordered softly before turning away to leave again. 

Act 3 Do We Know Who?

Mr. Waverly waved for Solo to sit down and began without preamble, “Mr. Solo, you may remember our talk about Mr. Kuryakin’s file.”

Solo’s face turned red. He did indeed remember that talk.

“I’m afraid I led you to believe there were no other copies,” Mr. Waverly appeared somewhat at a loss for words. “Security in the building has been compromised and it as well as other critical files are now missing.”

Napoleon’s mind was frantic. “Do we know who?” 

Mr. Waverly shook his head. “There are several possibilities, including a certain Mr. Klein. You do remember Mr. Klein I assume.”

Napoleon had good cause to remember Bill Klein. He was an agent with the CIA who was always giving Illya grief because he’d been born in the Soviet Union. If he had the file, it would mean big trouble.

“We must be very careful how we handle this investigation,” Mr. Waverly was saying. “Knowledge of the fact that those files are missing is something we do not want to leak out.” He sighed. “Mr. Kuryakin, of course, will have to be informed. I’ll leave that up to you.”

Telling Illya that the file was not destroyed but had been stolen was something Napoleon was not looking forward to. He suddenly felt very ill. The receptionist who took his badge as he prepared to leave asked if he was feeling well and suggested he see one of the doctors. He gave her a wane smile and shook his head.

Arriving back at the suite, Napoleon took a deep breath before entering. Illya had evidently been taking advantage of the amenities that came with the room. Napoleon found him stretched out on the bed wearing one of the terry cloth robes that he had last seen in the bathroom and he stood in the doorway not wanting to disturb his sleeping partner.

Illya had found the massage feature of the bed to be very relaxing and was looking forward to sharing the experience with Napoleon. It was so relaxing that he had fallen asleep. He faintly heard the door to the room as it opened and lay there patiently waiting for Napoleon to join him. After several minutes, when he didn’t Illya opened his eyes. The look on Napoleons face made him pause. “Napoleon, what’s wrong?”

Napoleon walked slowly over to the bed and sat down, taking one of Illya’s hands in his, not able to look his partner in the eye. “Illya, I wish I could read you as well as you seem able to read me.” Taking a deep breath he continued, “Love, do you remember your private file that we thought was destroyed?” Illya nodded. “Well, there is another copy. It was in a special vault and was stolen along with some other files.”

Illya didn’t know what shocked him most; the fact the Napoleon had called him ‘Love’ or the fact that his private folder might still exist. He had only seen it once and was still ashamed of the fact that Napoleon had also seen it. Now to find that it still existed and someone else had access to it. “Do we know who?” he asked anxiously.

Napoleon shook his head. “Not really, but I assume you remember Klein?” Illya’s face went white and Napoleon thought for sure he was going to pass out. “The way I see it is we have two choices.” Illya gave him a funny look. “We can kill the little prick…or we can investigate and prove he stole the files and then kill the little prick.” 

For some reason that remark hit Illya’s funny bone and he started laughing. Napoleon watched in concern, that wasn’t the reaction he had expected. 

“Napoleon, that’s a wonderful idea, but how do you expect to go about accomplishing it?” Illya asked as he positioned his other hand to gently touch his partner’s face. 

Covering the hand on his face with his own Napoleon admitted, “I hadn’t got that far in my thinking yet and if you keep this up I don’t think I will get any further.” He looked fondly at the Russian. “Mr. Waverly would prefer that no one know that the files have been stolen.”

Illya took his hand back and scooted to the head of the bed, suddenly all business. “So, we must have a good cover for our investigation, yes?” Napoleon nodded. “Then I will dress and we will return to headquarters and start.” Illya got off the bed to start dressing.

“Illya, it’s three in the morning, I can’t see any reason why I would return so soon after leaving.” Napoleon said, shaking his head.

Illya, his jaw clinched, said, “So you would rather we….?”

Napoleon came close to his partner and pulling him in a warm embrace said softly, “No, until we get this resolved I don’t think either of us would enjoy it.” 

Illya pulled away reluctantly and started dressing. “I have an experiment in the lab that I need to check on.”

One of Napoleon’s eyebrows lifted. “Okay, you have your excuse, what’s mine?” Illya could only shrug. “Let me drop you off then.” Napoleon sighed. Before they left it was decided that Illya would somehow obtain the video from security that covered the time and location of the theft.

Act 4: To Trap A Spy

On the drive to headquarters, Napoleon reached over and took Illya’s hand in his and was surprised that he didn’t pull it away. They drove in silence and for some reason, as his thumb caressed the back of Illya’s hand; his mind came up with the perfect excuse for his return to headquarters. Casually Napoleon started, “Illya, Love, as I was leaving, Marcie suggested I see one of the staff physicians. It seems I’m not feeling well. Perhaps I should do just that?”

Illya smiled. He was beginning to enjoy being called that. “So now you have your excuse, but how do you fool the doctor?”

Napoleon glanced sideways at his lover with a decidedly smug expression. “Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ll just do what I always did when I needed to fool my mother.”

It was decided that Illya would enter first and go to the lab, supposedly to work on his experiment. Napoleon gave him twenty minutes, and then mentally prepared himself by thinking of the information in the one folder before he entered. 

Taking one look at Napoleon’s face, Marcie jumped up. “Oh you poor baby, you look worse. Just sit down here and I’ll call someone.”

Giving her a pitiful look he said weakly, “That’s alright, I’m sure I can make it on my own.”

“Then at least let me let them know you’re on your way?” Marcie asked reaching for the phone.

Napoleon gave her a small smile and nodded before slowly heading that way. Once out of her sight, he hurried to the medical section and hoped he was able to fool them as well as he had fooled Marcie.

Illya in the meantime had checked on his experiment and was planning to proceed to security when the phone rang. “Kuryakin,” he answered.

“Illya? This is Marcie at receptions, I thought you might want to know Napoleon’s on his way to medical, he doesn’t appear to be feeling well.”

“Perhaps it’s something he ate?” Suggested Illya, pleased to hear that Napoleon was right on time. “I will check in on him. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. It was the least I could do for the poor baby.”

Illya, with an odd smile, looked at the phone before hanging it up, poor baby indeed. Now on to security. Fortunately this early in the morning there was only one agent on duty. Using the excuse that he was working on a report to update security, Illya managed to locate and remove the precise tape in question.

Napoleon in the meantime had arrived at medical and paused to steel himself before entering. He knew this would be harder than fooling his mother, but was confident of his ability to do so. 

As a nurse came through the door, he closed his eyes and thought about the pictures in that folder, which was all it took. She took him by the arm and led him into an examining room, and had him lie down. Then she proceeded to take his blood pressure, which was a little high, and place a thermometer in his mouth. Fortunately for him, she was called away before she could check the reading. While she was gone he took his lighter and carefully heated the thermometer up, managing to put it back into his mouth before her return. “It’s 104, I’ll have the doctor here shortly,” she said as she exited the room almost running into Illya.

“Hi, I hear you are not feeling well,” Illya remarked.

“Oh, I think I’ll be feeling much better shortly,” Napoleon leered. “Have you got it?”

Illya patted his jacket. “Now what?”

“Now I convince the doctor that I’m sick and then meet you to view the tape.” Napoleon reclined on the uncomfortable examining table.

“Where do we view it?” Illya wanted to know.

Napoleon thought about it for a minute and then at the same instance said in unison with Illya, “The map room.” A perfect choice since it did have the right equipment.

The doctor came into the room and eyed Napoleon suspiciously. Usually trying to get a section two agent into medical was almost impossible and to have one voluntarily check-in himself in was improbable. Still, as he checked the notes the nurse had made, the man’s blood pressure was up and he did appear to be running a fever. It was just possible that the man was sick. Laying down the pad, the doctor, hands in his white jacket pocket, asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

Napoleon closed his eyes and concentrated.

The doctor watched as the patients face went ashen and his breathing seemed to become difficult. His assessment went through a radical change and he pulled his pen from his pocket and reached for the pad again, “I’m going to recommend some tests be run. It will probably be a while, as we’re shorthanded at the moment, so I want you to just lie there.”

This was working out better than he had planned. He waited several minutes after the doctor left before swinging his legs around and hopping off the examining table to hurry to the map room. The map room was devoted to the examination of all sorts of maps, but it also has other uses, as Napoleon well knew. He tried to keep his mind off of those uses, because getting back that folder was more important at the moment than trying to get into his partner's…he shook himself, desperate to drop that line of thought. It would only complicate things now.

When Napoleon arrived, Illya had everything ready to go. They watched the tape together and were surprised to find nothing. No break in, no one even getting near the secret vault. “Are you sure you have the right tape?” Napoleon asked. Surely the information Mr. Waverly gave him could not be wrong.

“Positive.”

The two agents mulled this over. Thinking out loud Napoleon ventured, “Whoever did this must have doctored the tape.” Illya nodded. “I don’t think Klein has the smarts to do it,” Napoleon added, somewhat disappointed.

Illya smiled tightly, pleased that his friend was disgruntled.

Napoleon frowned. “I wonder who had access to the tapes and the knowledge to change them.”

“I don’t know, but I can find out. I suppose this means we can’t kill Klein?” Illya said regretfully.

Napoleon grinned. “At least not for this. I’d better get back to medical. Keep me informed.” Before he left he pulled Illya into his arms for a deep kiss.

After that it was only a matter of getting the list of security personnel and finding out who was on duty at the time in question, then getting the information to Mr. Waverly. A search was made and all the pertinent records where found. The culprit was locked away and unfortunately Klein was cleared of all suspicion. Mr. Waverly, in front of both Napoleon and Illya, actually destroyed the folder with Illya’s background much to their relief.

Epilogue

Finally back at the hotel, Napoleon took his partner in his arms and covered him with kisses. Illya let him; trying to remember the agent he had been, was it only six months ago, before London. With each kiss it was growing harder to remember. Napoleon pulled back and looked into the cobalt eyes with concern. “What’s wrong now?”

Illya looked back at the chocolate eyes of his friend, partner and lover. “Nothing, it’s just…I’m having trouble believing…”

“Believe,” Napoleon whispered. “I went through the same thought process myself, and you know what?”

Illya shook his head.

“I find that what we have now is so much better than what we had before. And I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

Illya smiled a smile so radiant it took Napoleon's breath away, just before he led him into the bedroom to finally try out that bed.

THE END


End file.
